


A Hundred Love Letters

by justbreathe80



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-14
Updated: 2009-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbreathe80/pseuds/justbreathe80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Yeah, he was me. For a little while. It's a long story." Ray felt something weird in the pit of his stomach, almost like a bizarre kind of déjà vu and he grabbed a stack of files off his desk to put away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hundred Love Letters

**Author's Note:**

> Written for vecchiofest.
> 
> A BILLION thanks to my darling brooklinegirl, who is my HEART and my beta extraordinaire. Without you, I would cry all the time. And be a way worse writer. *hearts*

I.

Kowalski came back to Chicago about six months after Ray dragged his sorry ass back from Florida and his failed marriage with Stella. He sold the bowling alley and moved back into his old room in his ma's house. It was depressing, pushing forty and living with his mother and being divorced. Twice.

He was sitting at his desk one day, in February, shuffling some paperwork from the Eichmann case around on his desk, when the door swung open and Kowalski came walking in. Ray knew he was staring, but _Christ_, Kowalski looked like shit, like death warmed over, like he'd been hit by a fucking truck or something. He had about five days of stubble on his chin, and his hair, which had been all stupid and spiked-up the last time Ray had seen him before he and Fraser had fucked off to Canada, was flat and too-long and just _wrong_.

Ray could see people in the bullpen looking like they wanted to say hi to Kowalski, give him a pat on the back, ask after Fraser. He'd been gone for over a year, after all. But there was something in Kowalski's face that said "back the fuck off" and people let him pass. Ray found himself closing his mouth, which was open and poised to hurl a sarcastic comment when he first spotted Kowalski, because _man_, it was bad.

Kowalski was hunched into himself and when he finally got to Welsh's office, he stepped inside and shut the door quietly behind him.

"Who's that?" whispered Jimmy Lazuto, Ray's on-again, off-again partner. Right now, they were on, but that was probably just until Jimmy did something stupid (again) and Ray had to threaten to beat the shit out of him (again), and Welsh would split them up (again).

"Kowalski. Used to work here."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, he was me. For a little while. It’s a long story." Ray felt something weird in the pit of his stomach, almost like a bizarre kind of déjà vu and he grabbed a stack of files off his desk to put away.

*****

When he came back, Welsh was standing in the doorway of his office, arms folded over his chest. Ray could see the back of Kowalski's blond head, sitting at one of the chairs in front of Welsh's desk.

"Vecchio, a word?" Welsh called into the room.

"Sure thing," Ray said, smoothing his hands down the front of his suit, and wondering what the hell he had to do with Kowalski coming back from Canada. He walked past Welsh, who closed the door behind him, and Ray sat down next to Kowalski, who was staring down at the floor.

Welsh rounded his desk and plopped himself in his chair, leaning back. "Okay. Vecchio, Kowalski's going to be working for us again. I'm partnering him up with Jackson, but I might put you on some cases together, since you may have some contacts in common. Think you can work with that?"

Kowalski hadn't moved, hadn't looked up. Christ.

Ray cleared his throat. "No problem, sir. Right, Kowalski?"

Kowalski looked up, his blue eyes kind of wild. "Yeah. Yeah. No problem." He sounded even worse than he looked, his voice cracking like he hadn't used it in weeks. Ray swallowed back the insults he'd planned to throw at Kowalski for months, if he ever ran into him again. He couldn't even call the guy Stanley, he was such a mess.

"Okay, gentleman. Now get out."

Vecchio stood up and headed toward the door. Kowalski came out after him, shutting Welsh's door, and then beelining it for the empty desk (that had belonged to Dan Martin before he transferred to Boston) in the corner. God, Ray didn't even like the guy, but he couldn't help watching him as he put his jacket over the back of the chair and sat down, looking lost and confused and this close to giving up everything. Ray knew a little bit about what that felt like. He might have hidden it behind the three thousand dollar suits coming back from Vegas and the very real tan coming back from Florida, but he remembered feeling like some part of his gut was ripped out, and like he was returning to some kind of foreign country.

And he had a pretty good idea of what it felt like to leave Fraser.

*****

Kowalski showed up the next day, hair still long, and the day after that. He didn't say much, which Ray knew was very out of character for Kowalski, who never shut the hell up about anything, in Ray's experience. Kowalski's new partner was Theresa Jackson, who Kowalski avoided for the first few days, until finally Jackson stood, her hands on her ample hips, dressing Kowalski down about feeling sorry for himself and getting a grip and being a _cop_. Ray watched the smile spread across Kowalski's face, the first one he'd seen since Kowalski came back, as Kowalski leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. The smile totally changed him, and Ray had to fight the corners of his own mouth tugging up in response.

"Okay, okay, Jackson. I got you," Kowalski said, laughing. "Remind me never to cross you again."

Jackson huffed and threw a stack of folders on Kowalski's desk before turning, her long, braided hair swinging around, and stalking back to her own desk. Kowalski was still grinning as he opened one of the folders and picked up the phone.

Everything was fine for a few more days. Kowalski was looser, sometimes smiled, talked to people when he needed to, but he hadn't spoken more than a curt word or two to Ray. Which was fine, it was good, Ray didn't need Kowalski to be his best friend.

It was a Friday when Mimi, the new aide who'd replaced Frannie when she'd gotten knocked up, walked by Kowalski's desk and dropped a white envelope on it. Kowalski picked it up immediately and fingered the edges, going completely pale before tearing it open and pulling out the sheet of paper.

Ray was supposed to be working on his three-week backlog of paperwork that Welsh had been riding him about, but he was mesmerized, because whatever was in that letter was twisting Kowalski's face in a million different directions. Then Kowalski was standing, sending his chair tipping over onto the floor. "Fuck," Kowalski said, loud enough that Ray could hear him, before he dropped the letter and leaned down to grab his jacket, storming out of the bullpen.

He knew he shouldn't, he knew it was really fucking stupid, but Ray was already up and righting Kowalski's chair. The letter was on floor, and Ray instantly recognized Fraser's even, precise script on the paper. He picked it up, not even really meaning to read it, or even wanting to, but, god, what had Fraser done to make Kowalski like this?

_Dear Ray,_

_I hope this letter finds you well in Chicago. I am sending this to the station house because I know that you gave up your apartment some time ago, when you were here, and I don't know where you are living now. _

_I'm not sure that you will want to hear from me, but I wanted to write and make sure that you were safely back in Chicago, and doing well. Things here are much as they were when you left. I tracked down two poachers on patrol last week, and broke up several drunken disturbances in town. Kate MacIvor and Jack Ooglak asked after you, and I said that I would give them word when I'd heard of how you were faring._

_I must confess that I am rather unsure of what to say. I know that you left for good reasons, both of us agreed to that point, but I still miss you terribly, and not a day has passed where I haven't questioned whether or not we made the right decision. Whether or not we should have tried harder or done something differently. I know it is foolish, but I can't help but think it. I know that it was not easy for you here, and I hope that Chicago is better for you, and that you are happy. _

_I hope to hear from you soon. _

_Sincerely,_

_Benton Fraser_

Ray had the letter clutched in his hand, feeling guilty as hell that he'd read this really private thing between Kowalski and Fraser, and stunned with the realization of why Kowalski was destroyed the way he was. Before he could stop himself, he was heading toward the door, and he was still holding the letter when he found Kowalski outside, crouched down, cigarette in hand. Ray could make out the shaking from a few feet away.

"Hey, Kowalski," Ray said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"What do you want, Vecchio? I'm not really in the mood for witty banter." Kowalski blew smoke out of his mouth, the cigarette glowing.

Ray walked a little closer, crouching down, and held out the letter. "Relax. I just wanted to give this to you. You dropped it back there."

Kowalski looked at him sharply and took the letter, stuffing it into his pocket. "You reading my mail now? That's just great."

"Fuck you. I was trying to pick up after your mess in there."

Kowalski sighed. "You read it though, didn't you?" His voice was weary, and Ray was freaked out that Kowalski wasn't screaming at him. Because, by all accounts, he should be.

"Yeah.” He paused, not wanting to ask, but he had to know. “Jesus, Kowalski. What the fuck happened?"

There was near-silence for a few minutes, only the sounds of the cars passing on the other side of the building, Kowalski taking slow, careful drags on his cigarette before stubbing it out with his shoe and standing up. Vecchio heaved himself up too.

"Nothing. Not a damn thing. Now come on, don't you have a mountain of paperwork waiting for you in there?" Kowalski strode toward the door, and Ray followed. Kowalski apparently didn't want to talk about Fraser or Canada or anything, and Ray honestly didn't really want to talk about Vegas or Stella, so they were probably even. He didn't need to know. They just needed to do their jobs.

II.

In the weeks and months after that, Kowalski started looking and acting like himself again. He got his hair cut; he came in one morning with his hair lighter and sticking straight up in perfect spikes. It looked stupid, but it was Kowalski, and Ray was kind of glad to see him back to himself, at least a little. Not looking so much like a train wreck or a kicked puppy all the time.

Ray and Lazuto were out and solving cases, despite Lazuto's utter incompetence, but Kowalski and Jackson were the darlings of the place. Best solve rate in the precinct. Jackson was perfect for Kowalski. She didn't take any shit and Ray had watched a number of scenes right in the middle of the bullpen with Jackson dressing Kowalski down for something, and Kowalski trying to nod and not laugh.

Ray had worked with Kowalski a few times, too, on the Felucci brothers case, and on taking down Jamie Flynn. Kowalski was a fucking good cop, playing the good guy to Ray's little bit of Armando in the interrogation room, and Ray watched through the two-way mirror as Kowalski, voice quiet and steady, reduced Flynn to blubbering mess, giving up the names of all of his contacts.

When he strode out of the room, wearing what seemed to be his favorite Bulls t-shirt under his shoulder holster, Ray stopped him with his palm on Kowalski's chest. He could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin shirt, feel his heart pounding. "You did good, Kowalski. Real good."

"Didn't think I had it in me?" Kowalski shot back, his chin tilted up, his arms crossed over his chest.

Ray raised his hands in surrender. "Jesus. Take a compliment, will you?"

Kowalski sighed heavily, his body relaxing. "Yeah. Thanks."

One day, when Ray was shutting the door of his brand-new Riv in the parking lot, he saw a sweet 1967 GTO pull up next to him, Kowalski in the driver's seat.

"Jesus," Ray murmured as Kowalski killed the engine and got out.

"Morning, Vecchio," Kowalski said, almost cheerfully, shutting the door. "You like?"

Vecchio swallowed, because, god, the car was amazing. Gorgeous. "It's nice."

"Nice? A mint-condition '67 GTO? She's a fucking _wet dream_, Vecchio, and you know it."

Ray decided to change the subject. "Where'd it come from? I thought you were driving a shitty pool car yesterday."

Kowalski smiled and pulled off his sunglasses. "My parents were keeping it for me, out in Skokie. Thought for sure that I'd never - well, since I'm back, I figured I should go pick it up. No sense it leaving it out there now." The smile had faded off his lips, just barely. "You like it?"

"Yeah, Stanley, I like it." He was pretty sure he meant the car.

*****

Ray was up, digging in the files for something on Tony DiNucci, the goon they were pretty sure had been holding up dry cleaners' on Wabash. He had handled the guy with Fraser, a few months before he left for Vegas, and he knew he had some contacts somewhere in a file. God.

_Yes_. Got it.

He turned around, facing Kowalski's desk as Kowalski squinted at the computer screen (fucker would never wear his glasses even though he was blind as a bat). Ray watched as Mimi, hips swinging, dropped something on Kowalski's desk. "Mail call, Ray," she said, smiling.

"Thanks, Mimi," Kowalski said, grinning back and flipping the envelope over. Shit. Ray knew instantly what it was, from the way the smile died on Kowalski's face, the way his hands shook just a little as he carefully opened it.

Ray balled his hands into a fist and watched, just watched, part of him wanting to go over and tell Kowalski not to even read it, that he was okay, he was doing okay here. Part of him wanted to strangle Fraser, even though he had no clue what had gone down between them, but he couldn't stand the way the letters made Kowalski's face look, the way he would be afterward, like someone had punched him in the gut.

He made himself walk carefully and slowly back to his desk, made himself bend his head down to the file and not stare as Kowalski read Fraser's letter. Ray flipped through the papers in the DiNucci file until he found what he was looking for (yeah, he had been connected to Louis Gambini, Ray knew it). His hand was on the phone receiver when an opened enveloped drifted down and landed right on top of DiNucci's ugly mug.

"What's this?" He tried to sound surprised, because they were still pretending that Ray hadn't read Fraser's last letter. They were still pretending that they didn't have a Mountie and an Assistant State's Attorney standing between them.

"You might as well read it. What do I care?" Ray reached out and fingered the edges of Fraser's words on the envelope. _Ray Kowalski. 27th Precinct. Chicago, Illinois._ He took it in his hand and put in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

"You got plans tonight, Kowalski? Hot date or something?" He looked up and caught the stunned look on Kowalski's face.

"Huh?" Kowalski's mouth was practically hanging open.

"Plans. You know? Anyway, Ma's making lasagna, which she says you love, so I was thinking if you wanted to, you could come. You know, have dinner." His palms were sweating and he reached down to wipe them on his wool pants.

Kowalski was looking at him carefully, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle, like Ray didn't make one damn bit of sense to him. Ray waited, feeling his stomach drop a little before Kowalski finally said, "Okay, yeah. I couldn't pass up Ma's lasagna. And Frannie's about to pop again, right?"

*****

Dinner was - well, it was a typical dinner at the Vecchio house. Frannie was huge and hormonal and yelling at everyone, and Ma was still bursting into tears at the sight of her every half an hour or so.

Ma smiled when Kowalski walked in behind Ray, and held out her arms. "Mi biondo!" Kowalski laughed and walked into her arms, letting her practically crush him against her chest. Ma led Kowalski to a chair and gestured, and he sat down. "You need to eat, no?"

Ray sat down next to Kowalski. Frannie smiled over at him, the first time she'd smiled at anyone around the house in months (it figured). "Long time, no see, brother. Lasagna?"

Kowalski nodded, and tucked into his food like he was starving, which Ray couldn't be sure he _wasn't_. He didn't say much, a word here and there or a nod of his head as he inhaled his lasagna. He was a skinny bastard, and probably hadn't eaten anything decent since who knew when. Maybe Fraser cooked up in Canada.

Maria and Tony and the kids bickered throughout the whole meal, and Ray pushed his own lasagna around his plate, not sure if he was hungry or not. Not sure _what_ he was.

Kowalski stayed through coffee, stayed through Ma and Frannie clearing the table, still not talking much once his mouth wasn't full of food, but he seemed to be doing okay. Enjoying himself even. Ray found himself smiling just watching Kowalski get a kick out of his crazy fucking family.

Finally, Kowalski stood up and put his napkin on the table. "I think I should get going," he said. He walked over and hugged Ma tightly. "Thanks for having me, Ma." He hugged Frannie too, her huge belly in between them.

Ray got to his feet, almost so fast that he nearly knocked his chair over. "I'll walk you out."

Ray trailed Kowalski out to where the GTO was parked on the street. He wasn't sure what to say, or if there was anything to say. He still had the letter in his pocket, and he still had no idea what it said.

Kowalski dug his keys out of his jacket pocket and had unlocked the driver's side door when he suddenly spun around. "Listen, Vecchio. Thanks. For inviting me, and everything. It was really nice."

"Ma asks about you all the time. I think it makes her feel better to see that you haven't wasted away." Ray looked down at the ground, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He kicked his shoes against the dirt next to the curb. He couldn't make himself look at Kowalski, because he wasn't sure what he'd see there, or if he wanted to see it.

"Good, good," Kowalski murmured. "So, I'll see you tomorrow?" Ray looked up, and Kowalski's blue eyes were boring into him. The weight of everything they weren't saying was heavy in the air. The letter was poking Ray in the back of his hand.

"Yeah, tomorrow." And with that, Kowalski was in the car, the engine purring to life, and Ray held up his hand in a wave as Kowalski took off down the street.

*****

Ray was staring up at his ceiling, trying to find something to distract himself. But these were the same cracks in the paint that had been there his whole life, because he lived in his childhood bedroom, two divorces under his belt and not one damn thing to show for it.

"Fuck," he said to the empty, quiet room, before turning over and pulling the letter off his bedside table. He pulled it out slowly and unfolded it.

_Dear Ray,_

_I hope you are doing well. I was disappointed not to hear from you after my last letter, especially since it has been months since you left. I can only hope that my letters are reaching you, although I suppose it is possible that you are no longer at the 27th. _

_Things here have been difficult. Several weeks ago, we had a warm spell, which, as you know, can be rather dangerous here. I'm sorry to say that Dave and Annie's two, Davey and Gretchen, were caught out ice skating on the pond. We couldn't save them, although we tried, for many hours until we finally pulled their bodies from beneath the weak ice. It was terrible, and Dave and Annie were inconsolable. I thought that you would like to know, perhaps you would want to send them your sympathies._

_I admit that it was not easy for me to handle the incident, and that I had almost expected you to be there that day when I came home. To offer some consolation, or something of the sort. You were always better at handling those difficult emotional situations than I ever was. Regardless, it made me realize that I am quite lonely here, and that the winter was hard, and the spring just as much. I miss you. I know that it may not be fair for me to say that, since I am not blameless for why you left by any means, but it is the truth. And I can't help but wish you were still here._

_Please write back, just to let me know that you are all right and receiving my letters. I understand that it is difficult, but I would appreciate the courtesy._

_Sincerely,_

_Benton_

Ray was shaking by the time he finished reading. He wasn't sure why, but the reality of Kowalski's history with Fraser and how it was tearing them both apart came crashing down on him.

Fraser was Ray's partner, always would be even after Ray had gone to Vegas and Kowalski had taken his place. Even now. He loved the guy, and hated that he was hurting, but he hated that Kowalski was hurting just as much. Something must have happened, something really, really big, for them to fall apart.

Maybe there was something that they could do, maybe they'd deal and get back together, and be happy. Ray wished he could want that, but all he could think about was the way Kowalski looked at the dinner table, the way he looked next to the car, like he was waiting for Ray to say something, to catch on to something.

And Ray was pretty sure he was starting to.

III.

Theresa Jackson's baby shower was on a Friday, right before she went out on maternity leave, and on Monday Welsh called both him and Kowalski into his office to tell them that their unofficial, sometimes partnership was now an official, all the time one. They both nodded as Welsh told them, and left the office, Kowalski leading. Ray thought he should say something, but he didn't know what. And Kowalski wasn't talking either.

"Hey, Vecchio, couldn't handle me?" Lazuto shouted from the other side of the room.

Ray stacked up some files on his desk. "Yeah, that's it, Jimmy. You're too much for me."

Kowalski was standing next to him, grinning, before he leaned in close to Ray's ear. "I'm not too much for you?"

Ray almost groaned out loud, which might possibly have been the worst thing he could do, because he knew _exactly_ why Kowalski was driving him nuts. He didn't need his half-hard dick in his pants from Kowalski's voice in his ear to tell him that. "Nope. You're just right," he whispered, which seemed to knock Kowalski back a couple of feet.

Apparently, the two of them together were a magnet for impossible cases, and it wasn't long before they were deep into a double murder/rape case that was driving them both crazy. They kept almost having the guy, and then he'd slip out of their fingers. Kowalski's hand was wrapped up in gauze from where he'd punched the wall a few days before in frustration. Ray had held his hand and bandaged it while he told him to chill the fuck out, they'd get him.

Finally, they caught the guy, James Blake. He'd made one wrong move and they'd gotten his address, and busted into his house and caught him on his couch, looking pretty surprised that they'd figured him out. Kowalski was _seething_, looking like he wanted to rip Blake apart limb from limb, so Ray read the guy his rights and didn't flinch when Kowalski clicked the cuffs on, a little too tight to be comfortable.

It took a little while to get everything in order back at the station, but they'd been on for four days straight, days and nights, and Welsh was sending them home as soon as everything was done.

"Hey, Kowalski, you want to get something to eat? You know, real food, maybe?"

Kowalski laughed, and it was a real welcome sound after the past few days of clenched jaws and punching walls. "Yeah, that sounds good. Let me just make sure I've got everything all set, and then we'll go." Kowalski leaned over his desk and started shuffling through papers when something fell out.

Christ.

Kowalski just stared at the envelope on the desk, like he was convinced that Fraser, the most stubborn person in the history of the universe, would give up and stop writing. That they'd both just let go and move on.

"Kowalski -" He didn't know what he was going to say, but he needed to say something.

"Shut up, Vecchio. Just shut up, okay." His voice was totally flat.

"Listen, let's just -"

"I said _shut up_." Kowalski had the letter in his hands and was looking at it like he expected it would disappear, if he looked at it hard enough. Wished it away.

Ray shut his mouth, and sat at the edge of Kowalski's desk as Kowalski flopped down in his chair and tore open the letter carefully. Ray read the letter over Kowalski's shoulder, and Kowalski didn't do a damn thing to stop him.

_Dear Ray,_

_I think it is appropriate to dispense with the pleasantries, as I haven't spoken to you in a number of months. It is clear that you don't wish to speak to me, although I had hoped that we could remain friends. I know that we did not part on the very best of terms, but I care about you very much and had thought that, maybe with time, we could start moving on. _

_I am writing because, well, I met someone. It's still very new and not at all something that is settled. We have been talking and sharing meals. My experience with dating is quite limited, and I have not had the occasion to take someone out in quite some time. _

_I suppose you're wondering why I am telling you this. We are not people who were involved and are now friends, and I can tell you such things. You have made that clear by not returning my letters. I needed to talk to you, because I feel that this new relationship is approaching the point where I will have to decide if it will be something more than casual, and I'm not sure I can do that without you playing a part._

_I have missed you, Ray, since the day Dief and I took you to the airport and watched you fly back to Chicago. These months have been very, very hard for me. The days have been long and I have longed to have you back here, to talk to you at the end of the day, to share those moments that, despite everything, were wonderful. And the truth is, despite everything that went wrong, that I love you. I know that I didn't say that as much as I should have or could have, or as much as maybe you wanted to hear it. I have only come to realize that more since you left, not less. _

_I apologize for rambling, and I'll get right to the point. Come back, Ray. Come home. I don't want to date and start a new relationship and pretend that I don't wish that it were you who were here. I should have tried to make sure you knew that I wanted you to stay. I should have worked harder, and for that I am so very sorry. Please, Ray. Give me another chance, and I promise things will be different. _I_ will be different. _

_I know there is a good chance that I will not hear from you, and I have to be at peace with that to some extent. But I hope that you will respond, even if I do not get the answer that I hope for. _

_Yours,_

_Ben_

Kowalski let the letter fall from his fingers, and Ray clamped down on every urge he had to get on a plane to Canada and beat the shit out of Fraser. It was so unfair, and he wanted to scream, because he could see that Kowalski was starting to lose it, and he wasn't sure that Kowalski would survive another one of these goddamn letters.

He also couldn't help but wonder if Kowalski would go back. And how _Ray_ would survive that. Because these months had been hard on Fraser, but they'd been hard on Ray too. Realizing how pathetic his post-Stella life was here, and realizing that maybe Kowalski was his best shot at something.

Kowalski pushed his chair back slowly.

"Hey, where -" Ray started, but Kowalski heading out the door before Ray could even figure out what to say or get his feet underneath himself to follow him.

*****

Ray found him at the first sleazy bar, around the corner from the station. It looked dark and the only real indication that it was open was the small neon sign in the corner of the front window. It looked right up Kowalski's alley.

Sure enough, Kowalski was at the bar, and Ray in the doorway for a moment. Kowalski's long fingers were wrapped around a glass, and there was an empty one already on the counter in front of him. His blond head was bowed, his back curved, staring down into his drink.

Ray took a deep breath and approached, sidling up to the bar and sitting down on the stool next to Kowalski. "Skipping out on me?"

Kowalski didn't say anything, just downed his drink and slammed the glass onto the bar. "You want?" he asked, gesturing to the glasses.

"Yeah, sure." Kowalski held up two fingers to the bartender, then waved his hand toward himself. Telling him to keep them coming. The bartender nodded, and, after a few more seconds of silence, there were two more glasses of whisky on the bar in front of them.

Now that he was here, Ray had no clue why or what to say. Sure, he could be a fucking girl and beg Kowalski to stay. Not to go back to Fraser, who was _Fraser_ for fuck's sake, and stay in Chicago because Ray thought he maybe, possibly was in love with him. Shit. He took a sip of his drink, letting it burn and warm his throat.

"It was good, for a while."

Ray turned his head sharply at the sound of Kowalski's voice. "What?"

"It was good. In the beginning, at least. We were happy, Canada was my oyster and all that, for a while."

Ray took another mouthful of whisky and swallowed. "Okay."

Kowalski sighed, and started on his fourth drink. "I really thought we could make it, you know? I thought it would be everything I couldn't make work with Stella. And for a while, it was so good."

"What the hell happened?"

Kowalski laughed, a bitter, dry sound in the noisy bar. "Well, I figure, you know Fraser better than pretty much anybody, right? So maybe you'll understand. It wasn't anything in particular. We died a slow, painful death up there."

Ray watched as Kowalski pushed the glasses around on the counter, sliding them over the slick surface. He was listening - he wanted to hear this. He fucking _needed_ to hear this.

"See, things were okay. I got a part-time gig fixing up cars and snowmobiles and everything in town, and Fraser got promoted, and we bought a cabin. People knew we were a couple and pretty much didn’t care, or left us alone."

"Cars and snowmobiles, huh?"

"Yeah, and the thing is, I was good at it, but one day I realized that I'd worked for fifteen years to be something, to be a cop, even on the days that I hated it, and there I was, fixing things to have an excuse to get out of the house, and waiting for Fraser to come home from patrol and realizing that I wanted something else. And Fraser, well, I don't think he ever really thought I could hack it up there to begin with, even though I _could_. So I tried to talk to him, tell him that I wasn't happy, and he just - he just completely shut down. Stopped talking. I think we went weeks without talking, and every time I tried to bring it up, that I was just trying to tell him how I felt, it got even worse."

Jesus.

"I mean, I know he loved me. And, god, I loved him too, but sometimes, that just isn't enough, you know? I mean, I loved the hell out of Stella, and where did that get me? Goddamn nowhere at all. And Fraser - well, he's a lot of good things, but he's also fucked up, and he didn't know how to fight for us. He couldn't. I think he thought he was letting me off the hook, making it easier for me to leave, when what I really needed was for him to ask me to stay and that we would make it work. So, after a month of that, I bought plane tickets. And he offered to take me to the airport. And that was it." Kowalski was still looking down at the bar, but Ray could tell from the way he held his shoulders that he needed to let that out. Let it all go finally.

Ray didn't know what he expected. Maybe a fight, something big and dramatic and showy, where Fraser and Kowalski yelled and Fraser kicked him out or something. Or one of them cheated. Something other than Fraser just giving up on Kowalski until he gave up and came back to Chicago looking like Fraser had hit him with a truck.

"Don't have anything to say, Vecchio?" Kowalski's voice was a little hoarse, from the whisky and the talking.

He didn't know what the hell to say. That he was glad? That he was so fucking grateful that Fraser had broken Kowalski's heart into a million little pieces?

Kowalski drained the remains of the glass before setting it down. "All right. What happened with you and Stella then? Thought you rode off into the sunset together. Florida, the bowling alley, everything."

Ray wished he had a better story to tell too, but he didn't. "You know Stella. She wants so damn much, and in the end, I wasn't enough for her either. I think she has a thing for bad boys and sharp dressers and all of these things that were Langoustini, and not Ray Vecchio. When we figured that out, we were stuck in a bowling alley in fucking _Florida_, and it took us months to get out from under it.” Ray stopped and took the last sip of his drink. “So I guess we've both been divorced twice, huh?"

Kowalski turned to face Ray, one hand dropping to Ray's knee, burning into his skin. "A couple of fucking losers, you and me."

"Yeah," Ray answered, his voice sticking in his throat. His heart was pounding, and he gripped the sides of the stool to keep himself steady.

"You want to get out of here?" Kowalski was leaning in close, his hot, strong breath on Ray's cheek, Ray's dick getting hard in his pants.

Ray smiled, and watched as Kowalski's grin spread on his face. It seemed all wrong, to be smiling when they were both fucking disasters, but it was right. "Let's go."

*****

Kowalski wasn't drunk enough to not be able to fit the key into his front door, and he swung the door open. Ray walked in ahead of him, and heard the click of the door shutting, the sound of Kowalski's keys hitting the table in the front hall.

"Make yourself comfortable," Kowalski said, slurring just a little at the end of his words. "Beer?"

Ray draped his suit jacket over the back of the chair, then settled down on the couch, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt. "Yeah, sounds good."

Kowalski walked into the kitchen, moving steadily enough for having downed five drinks at the bar. Ray watched as he opened the fridge and pulled out two beers, knocking them against the corner of the countertop to open them.

"Here." Kowalski held the beer out, and Ray took it, taking a long pull before setting it down on the coffee table. Kowalski sat down next to him, tipping his own bottle back before putting it down too.

It was quiet, and Ray felt like he should say something. Anything to break the silence, but he couldn't make himself talk. He was almost afraid to open his mouth - afraid of what would come out after months of watching Kowalski and bitching (to himself, at least) about how shitty his life was, afraid that he might have to admit that he maybe had something that mattered after all.

He started to turn, ready to talk, get past this somehow, when Kowalski shimmied over on the couch, right into his space. "Kowalski -"

Kowalski's hands were out and gripping Ray's tie, pulling him closer. "Shut up. How many times do I have to tell you to shut the hell up, Vecchio?"

"What are you doing?" Now that he was here, they were here, this was all real and crashing down on him.

"I could ask you the same question." Kowalski leaned in, just a little. "I see you watching me. You read Fraser's letters, you take me out to dinner, you follow me to a bar, you bring me home. That means something, right?"

Ray's dick was rock-hard and pressing against his pants, driving him crazy, and he was torn between running and fucking Kowalski into the couch. "I don’t know. I guess.”

 

Kowalski started laughed, and licked a stripe up the side of Ray's neck. Ray was shaking, shaking hard, and Kowalski pressed his shoulder back firmly against the couch, holding him steady. "Shh," Kowalski whispered, making Ray shiver.

"I'm not - I don't do this," Ray protested lamely, knowing he was completely and totally full of shit, and followed it with an embarrassingly loud moan as Kowalski bit down, just this side of too hard, on his earlobe.

"Yeah, me either," Kowalski said with a grin.

Kowalski was practically climbing on top of him, moving his lips over Ray's jaw, ratcheting him up. Ray's hands came down to rest on Kowalski's thin hips. Then, Kowalski was pressing their lips together, and Ray lost himself in the hot, slick slide of lips and teeth and tongue, Kowalski kissing him like he was drowning and he needed air. Which maybe he was.

Finally, Ray pulled away, gasping. "Wait. Fuck, just wait, okay?"

Kowalski looked like he'd been kicked, and backed away, his t-shirt rucked up a little bit, giving Ray a glimpse of the golden skin right above the waistband on his jeans. His lips were red and swollen and wet, and Ray wanted nothing more than to say _fuck it_ and pick up where they left off. But he had to do this.

"I just - I'm a mess, Kowalski. I mean, so are you, I get that completely, but - god. I live with my mother and my sisters and my brother-in-law and three kids. I've been divorced twice. Some days, I can't remember that I don't scare the shit out of people for a living, okay? You don't need this. Me."

Kowalski didn't say anything, just reached one hand up to run through his hair. Then, he looked up. "There's nothing about you that I don't know personally, Vecchio. Well, except for the living-with-your-family thing, which is really just lame. Other than that, god, I don't know who the hell I am or what I'm doing either. And I think you're the only damn thing in my life that makes _sense_ right now."

Ray felt himself flood with relief, because he came back to Chicago this time not sure if he'd ever be able to make it work again. And yeah, he had no idea if Kowalski would hightail it back to the Great White North and to Fraser and leave him here, but it didn't matter. It seemed right, somehow. He smiled at Kowalski, who grabbed at his tie again, hard, and grinned in response.

"Such a fucking mess," Kowalski said against his ear, and Ray's dick was right back in it. Kowalski was easing him onto his back on the couch and straddling him, and Ray let his hands find Kowalski's hips again, trailing his fingers down his thighs, feeling the warm skin through the denim.

He reached up and put his hand on Kowalski's face, feeling the stubble and tracing the lines with his fingertips. "Takes one to know one, baby."

Kowalski laughed up against his lips and kissed him again, slower this time, but still pushing his tongue deep into Ray's mouth, taking what he wanted. It was so hot, and Kowalski was almost absent-mindedly grinding his dick against Ray's because he was so lost in the kiss, and Ray could feel him, hot and hard and so fucking good.

He was gasping up at the ceiling as Kowalski sucked and bit on his neck, driving him crazy, making him dig his nails into Kowalski's back through the worn fabric of his shirt.

"You gonna fuck me? Huh?" Kowalski was murmuring, pushing his hand down between them and starting in on the button of Ray's pants.

"Fuck yeah," Ray panted out as he heard Kowalski drag the zipper on his pants down, and then Kowalski's hand was firm on his dick, just tight enough and hard enough to make his vision go a little blurry. Kowalski worked him slow and steady and so fucking good, but Ray wanted more. "You too," he said softly, "Come on, I wanna feel you..."

Kowalski moaned in agreement before clumsily opening his own pants with one hand, never faltering on Ray's dick, keeping it good and tight and hot. Then, Kowalski pulled him out of his boxers and slid them together, his long fingers wrapping around both of them, jerking them off slow and steady.

"Yeah," Kowalski moaned, "that's so good. So fucking good." Ray was moving his hips, and so was Kowalski, and they were fucking through Kowalski's fist, up against each other. There was no way Ray was going to last - Kowalski's hands were the first on him in a long time, and he'd be thinking about this. Waiting for it.

"Come on," Ray gasped, "please." Kowalski moved his hand a little faster, and that was _it_, Ray was coming all over Kowalski's dick and his fist and their clothes and everything, moaning like he needed that, which he had, more than he wanted to admit.

Kowalski was talking him through it, murmuring something as he sighed and gave it up, coming in between them. They were sticky mess, and he couldn't really breathe, but Ray pretty much wanted Kowalski never to move. Ever.

"Jesus," Ray said finally, still catching his breath, running his hands up underneath Kowalski's t-shirt to the smooth skin of his back. Kowalski was humming contentedly and breathing steadily into Ray's neck.

"Yeah," Kowalski said, before groaning and rolling onto his feet. "I'm getting too old for this shit. Bed?"

Ray looked up at Kowalski's half-smile, his outstretched hand, before he reached up to grasp it and let himself be pulled up and led to the bedroom.

Epilogue

Ray awoke the next morning, the sunlight hitting his face. He was having a fucking _great_ dream, where he could feel himself sliding over and over into Kowalski's sweet, tight ass, Kowalski's hands tight on the rungs of the headboard, his back arching. He could feel Kowalski coming around him, so right and so good, before he thrust in hard and came, harder than he thought possible after the warm-up on the couch.

When he opened his eyes, he was in Kowalski's shitty apartment, in his disaster of a bedroom, and the dream wasn’t a dream, just a flashback of the night before. Ray rolled over and reached for Kowalski, but there was nothing. Kowalski was gone, and his side of the bed was cold.

Ray rolled back and stared at the ceiling for a minute, a whole new set of cracks. His bedroom ceiling in Vegas didn't have cracks, The Bookman would never stand for it, and his house in Florida had stucco. He took a deep breath, then turned over and planted his feet on the floor, rubbing his hands against his (badly in need of a shave) face. He reached down and grabbed his boxers off of the floor, pulling them on and standing up, padding out of the bedroom.

When he turned the corner, he caught a glimpse of Kowalski, sitting at the dining room table, head bowed. He could smell coffee, and he damn well knew that Kowalski usually settled for instant, so he must not be freaking out completely. He must want Ray to stay.

"Hey," Ray said, his voice coming out a little scratchy from sleep. He walked toward the table, bending down, where he saw that Kowalski was writing furiously on a pad of paper.

Kowalski looked up and flashed him a quick smile. "Hey, yourself. Want coffee?" He gestured toward the counter. "Mugs are in the cabinet above the sink." Then he went back to work.

Ray walked over and pulled a mug out, pouring a cup of coffee and walking back to sit next to Kowalski. He didn't want to pry, which probably seemed pretty stupid after everything, but he figured Kowalski would let him on what he was writing at some point, if he wanted to. Kowalski's handwriting was sloppy and hurried, and finally, he signed his name with an almost-flourish and dropped the pen at the table. "There."

There was a moment of silence before Kowalski slid the pad of paper over to Ray. "Listen, Kowalski, you don't have to - just because we're -"

"I want to, you asshole. You deserve to see this," Kowalski said, cutting him off.

Ray nodded slowly, not sure what Kowalski was trying to say, but feeling like he was mere seconds from figuring everything out. He spun the pad around so it was right-side up, and started to read.

_Ben,_

_I'm really sorry I didn't write back sooner. I've been trying to get settled back in Chicago, and to be honest, it was too hard for me. I was pretty messed up when I got back and I didn't know what I would say to you if I wrote back, so I didn't. I know you must have been worried about me, and I should have at least called to say I wasn't dead. I’m really sorry._

_I've missed you a lot too. People here haven't really asked about you, I think they're afraid I might bite if they do. _

_I guess I'll get right to the point. The thing is, Fraser, that I love you. I have for a long time, and I still do. But you and I, we don't make a damn bit of sense. You know it, and I know it too. And I want you to be happy, so you should let me go and go for this new thing. Hell, maybe they're the person that's meant for you. I don't think I'm that person, not anymore. _

_And the thing is, I've met someone too. Someone who fits and makes sense to me, who gets me, who knows that I'm fucked up and stupid and a mess, and doesn't want anything but that. I'm not blaming you. You wanted me to be better, to be different, but the problem is, I'm just ME. I thought I could change for you, but I couldn't, not the way you needed me too. _

_I hope you find what you want, and that you are happy, because, god, you deserve it. I hope I can be too. _

_Give me a call sometime. I'd like to hear about how you are doing, and how everyone is up there. Maybe we can be friends, someday._

_Love,_

_Ray_

Ray sat there for a minute, just looking at the paper, the writing scrawled on the surface, words blurring together. He hadn't even realized that he had almost expected Kowalski to go back, try to make things work with Fraser again. He was scared to death that this would be all he got. That it would have to be enough. And now Kowalski was telling Fraser that he found someone and Ray couldn't even figure out how he got here.

Because, yeah, Kowalski was right. They did make sense, more sense than Ray had made with Angie or Fraser or Stella or any of the random women he'd fucked back in Vegas. Like nothing had in a long time.

"Okay," he said, still not looking up. Kowalski's hand dropped down onto his knee. "Okay."

He pushed the pad back to Kowalski and reached over, cupping Kowalski's face in both of his hands. Kowalski looked scared too, like he was afraid that he was going to fuck up again. Ray got that, he completely got that. He leaned over and kissed him, trying to put everything he couldn't say, not yet, into it.

When he pulled away, Kowalski looked stunned. "You want breakfast?" Ray asked.

"Breakfast?"

"Yeah, Stanley, breakfast. You know, eggs, bacon, pancakes, toast. Not chocolate or coffee, not alone anyway. What do you say?" He leaned back, throwing his arm over the back of Kowalski's chair.

"Okay. Yeah. That sounds good. Might be able to find something in there."

Ray squeezed Kowalski's shoulder and stood up, ready to face Kowalski's fridge.


End file.
